


Of Yearly Expectations

by OneofWebs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alpha Crowley (Good Omens), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Breast Fucking, Breeding, Crowley Has Two Penises (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Double Penetration, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nipple Play, Objectification, Omega Aziraphale (Good Omens), Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Pregnancy, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 12:18:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20866109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Aziraphale, an omega, has been through more breeding rounds than he care to remember. Unfortunately, he does remember. He remembers every time Crowley wants to share a heat together, because they can do that now. Armageddon is over, and Aziraphale is free to do what he wants, to be with whom he wants. The question just remains--is he able?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyyy i wrote a fic for my entire Top!Crowley server because they're amazingly supported. There's been a lot of stuff going on lately, so it was really nice to be able to sit down and just write a little something. I haven't done abo in long, long time--but here we are. Do enjoy!

The first time Aziraphale had held a baby was before humans had walked the earth. Thusly, it wasn’t so much as a baby in the way that humans thought of babies, because humans weren’t around to think about babies and call them that. They were called fledglings, as impersonal as the entire experience was. It was always around this time that Aziraphale thought about it, thought about the first time and the last time it had happened. It was his heat, of all things, and how stupid a thing it was to be upset about. It happened when it happened, and _every time_, Crowley seemed to know. Always seemed to ask, even before Aziraphale knew, and always led to this. Aziraphale had hastily shoved Crowley out of the shop and left himself a long cold cup of tea to stare at as he just _thought_.

His heat wasn’t the problem, not really. He’d been having those since God first wished angels into being. The heat wasn’t the problem, especially not now that the world was saved, and they’d had absolutely nothing to do with it. Not really. Except for the part where they benefited wholly for it, even if that came with its own complications. Because Aziraphale’s heat wasn’t the problem, it was that Crowley wanted to be a part of it. He had wanted to be a part of it for much longer than Aziraphale had even been considering, but it was easier to say no. Then, he was still spending his heats alone or in heaven, it just depended on the time. The time had been right eight times in the six-thousand years he’d been around—and that’s what he didn’t want Crowley to know.

Aziraphale had smelled it the moment he met Crowley on the wall. Crowley wasn’t just an alpha, he was a _strong_ alpha. The amount of little spawn he could have running around was not only endless, but rather terrifying the moment the thought passed Aziraphale’s mind. Not so much about the number of spawns, but for the fact that he wouldn’t be so averse to _carrying _one of those spawn. Or all of them, maybe, should time permit. Maybe it even would, with the look on Crowley’s face—it was something quite marvelous, really. His eyes all wide, yellow, and lit up like things that hadn’t been invented yet. The only issue remained in the fact that Crowley didn’t _know_, at that moment on the wall, that Aziraphale was an omega. It had been the first time he’d held a baby, and the first time his _fledgling _had been ripped right out of his arms.

With centuries passing at the rate they did, the only time Aziraphale stopped to remember any of this was when Crowley smelled his heat on the rise and asked that dreadful, important question that Aziraphale was terrified of leaving with an affirmative. Crowley wanted to spend Aziraphale’s heat with him, which was. Fine. Probably. They weren’t fighting anymore—Heaven and Hell had left them alone, and reasonably, Aziraphale had all the right to say _yes_, he would spend his heat with Crowley. It was so much more intimate than just sex, than just the kissing, and the dining at the Ritz. This was a moment that Aziraphale would have to give himself over completely to Crowley, and through all the stumbling blocks they’d had over the years, Aziraphale knew exactly why Crowley wanted to spend a heat with him. Something like solidifying their commitment. It was entirely unheard of that a bonded pair not spend heats together. Aziraphale was no normal omega, though, and when Crowley asked, he could only ever go back through it all again.

Crowley had asked with exactly eight days until Aziraphale’s heat would start. That was just enough time for each and every horrid memory to sink itself right back into place, slotted together in such a way that Aziraphale would have to hide it. He knew one negative wouldn’t be enough to keep Crowley away. He wouldn’t ask the same question twice; he had a lot of respect for Aziraphale’s wishes, even if they weren’t the answer that he was looking for. Still, he would be a doting alpha in just his way. He would bring things to help Aziraphale build his nest, he would provide food and water, and he would be there until the very last second that he could. Just to ensure that Aziraphale felt safe, even if he would go this alone. Heats, while bonded and alone, were always worse. Aziraphale knew this, and he appreciated every little thing that Crowley did for him. Always.

“That should be all for today, dear,” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands together in front of himself. There was a nervousness rising up in his gut, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep from breathing hard for long.

“You sure? I can always stay a bit longer. I know there’s still—”

“No! I’m quite alright, I assure you. I’m alright,” Aziraphale smiled, calmed himself, and tried to smile a bit wider for it. He didn’t need Crowley catching on that something was wrong, even if the scent in the air was enough to make Crowley’s nose scrunch up in some horrid fashion. Aziraphale even felt a bit bad, for it.

“Well, alright. I suppose,” Crowley shrugged. “You know how to reach me if you need something. Just, well, you know,” and he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, towards the door, “down the street, is all.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Aziraphale approached him. “And I ever thank you for your diligence,” he said, hands pressed into Crowley’s chest.

Crowley snorted, but he pressed a kiss onto Aziraphale’s forehead and held him, just a moment longer. Just long enough that he could really smell that sour feeling Aziraphale had, but he would never ask. He’d asked before, and it hadn’t been a wonderful time. If Aziraphale wanted to talk about it, he would talk about it. There was nothing more for Crowley to trust in. After that long moment, another kiss, and Crowley pulled away.

“See you tomorrow, then, angel.” He would have tipped his hat if he had one.

In one beat, Crowley was leaving. In the second, Aziraphale had collapsed down onto the sofa near his desk and let out a shuddering sigh. Every time his heat came around, they got worse. Angels were just—so to say, anyway, like that. Angels died and were born just like anyone else, but it was a much slower process. Sort of like lobsters, Aziraphale had always believed. Left alone to their own devices, they would essentially live forever. Things happened, though, and angels died. With every passing century, angels got closer and closer to being ready to carry a _child_, again, but the heats came every year without delay. The times Aziraphale had been ready were the times he had been called back to heaven. Eight times, and he remembered each with dreadful accuracy.

The first time had been before humans even walked the earth, and he thought about that part a lot. Really, it was a precursor to what they believed might spell something disastrous. It set a precedent, of sort, where the angels did not even get to choose their partners. They were set up by some Higher Power, as if God really had nothing better to do than sit around and play match maker. It had led to the first time, though, where Aziraphale had been led to the mating hall, his private room. He’d waited thirty minutes before _Michael_ walked in, and Aziraphale’s heart had plummeted. It was an honor to be paired with an Archangel, really. She was a powerful angel, almost as powerful as they came, and she was standing right in front of him. Really, Aziraphale should have been relieved that it was someone he knew and respected. Only, he and Michael had never gotten along. Now, in private quarters, Aziraphale was nothing more than her plaything for the next two weeks.

Michael was a fighter, not a lover. It proved well in the way she had handled Aziraphale with rough claws, teeth—she hadn’t marked him, though. None of them would. They were forbidden from it. It didn’t mean she hadn’t tried; Aziraphale could still feel the ache sometimes, if he thought hard about it. Michael and her teeth, her _teeth_. When Aziraphale wouldn’t bite her in return, he remembered being slapped and ridiculed. He was weak; she could do whatever she wanted to him, and he would just lay there and take it. Even if it meant pain, humiliation—because he was a useless little omega. He must have just been someone’s favorite, really, for this little match made in Heaven to be what it was. Michael would give him a strong child, and that would be the end of any time she would think of him.

And it was. Last Aziraphale had heard, from sources he would never disclose, Michael was doing nothing so much different than he was doing. She’d found herself some semblance of _happiness_, in a demon. Aziraphale hoped they were happy; he was not.

Michael _had_ given him a strong child. A son, who Aziraphale knew would be an alpha just like his father. Michael hadn’t been there for the birth, and she wouldn’t be around to raise the fledgling—because this was an impersonal process. Aziraphale got to hold little Warren for thirty minutes, and he remembered each minute with a passing fondness. Warren had blue eyes and a reddish tuft of hair, already sporting a nose like Michael’s, and her lips. Warren would look just like her, save his eyes, and Aziraphale tried to picture it before they came to take him away. They did come, thirty minutes later, and quite literally tore Warren from Aziraphale’s arms. He’d been the least willing omega to give up his new baby—he’d carried Warren for a year. To only be allowed thirty minutes to really know him felt unfair, and it tore at his heart in a way that felt physical, really. But all omegas suffered this.

The fledglings were taken, raised communally, and Aziraphale would never see Warren again. It was a privilege, he’d been told, that he’d been allowed to name the babe at all. Some omegas were not allowed, and some had refused all together. Aziraphale had thought himself strong enough to provide his baby with one gift, if that was all he could give, and it was a name. Still, Aziraphale wretched like he could truly vomit for the following day, and after that, he’d been called in for a meeting with the Archangels.

Seeing Michael had not been as strange as Aziraphale had thought; quite really, it was like Michael didn’t even realize who he was. They’d shared a strange look at first, but afterward, it was nothing but business. The business of being told that he was being given an assignment, on Earth. The Almighty had just finished creating the Garden of Eden, and She had asked that Aziraphale be the one to guard the Eastern Gate. The Archangels congratulated him, but it felt more like a punishment than anything. God knew that if She allowed Aziraphale to stay anywhere in Heaven, after these moments, that he would stop at nothing to find Warren again. It was something She couldn’t risk—the chaos he might bring. So, to the Garden with him. Aziraphale was given proper dress, a flaming sword, and told to have a nice time.

That was, of course, where he met Crowley. Aziraphale _had_ a rather nice time, after it all went down. Only in the fact that Crowley had left, and Aziraphale could keep his putrid thoughts to himself. His disappointment that Crowley hadn’t been able to tell he was an omega—he’d had a child only a week prior. It would take time for things to settle again, back to the way they were. Crowley wouldn’t be able to smell the omega on him until the Ark. After that, the _excitement_ of it began. Crowley was the strongest alpha that Aziraphale had ever been around, and the pure radiating _something_ that dripped off of him was enough to leave Aziraphale dizzy, some days. He tried to hold onto that, and not everything else.

Crowley had returned to the bookshop five minutes before it opened, humming a tune as he let himself in. There had been some discussion of cutting out the middleman and having Aziraphale move to the flat, but they had decided against it. More appropriately, Aziraphale had promptly said he refused, because the bookshop was a safe place for him to be. He didn’t need to be the temptation in Crowley’s home, not when his heat hit. There were only seven days until it happened, and afterward, maybe they could discuss the topic again. Maybe. Everything was always a hard, definite maybe, with Aziraphale. Still holding onto century old fear and discomfort—even if he knew he had Crowley’s full and utter devotion, it was a difficult thing to count on when he’d never been able to count on someone so deeply before. Crowley had been absolutely everything over the years; when Aziraphale realized that, he’d been terrified. In fact, currently, he was still terrified.

“Angel,” Crowley called out for him, rounding about the shelves and moving back to the desk. He set a basket atop of the desk, over the books and papers Aziraphale hadn’t cleared for the night. “Angel!” once again, but louder. Then, it wasn’t so much bumbling down the stairs as tiptoeing, when Aziraphale appeared. He wasn’t looking quite himself.

“Oh, Crowley. I wasn’t expecting you,” Aziraphale admitted.

“By now, I think you rightly should be expecting me. I brought you the stuff.” Crowley gestured to the basket, stepping aside so that Aziraphale could see it. Aziraphale perked up immediately and shuffled over to take a look, to rummage through the basket for a moment. From the angle, the way he bent and craned his neck to see all the things Crowley had brought, there was a painful reminder. They were _bonded_ in theory alone. A mark made outside of heat never lasted long, and the one on the back of Aziraphale’s nape was fading quickly. It left Crowley, for a change, feeling a bit sick and put out. Nothing in the world compared to the uncomfortable tug of knowing that his omega was not _his_ omega. That he wasn’t even to be around to claim him or to protect him. Aziraphale could protect himself, surely, but Crowley fretted and worried regardless.

“This is marvelous,” Aziraphale crooned. “Are you sure you won’t be needing some of this stuff? You’ve brought it awfully early, this time.”

“Better prepared than not.” Crowley shrugged like this had been a convenient stop and not something he’d been planning since he left the day before.

The comment left a little bit of a lump in Aziraphale’s throat, and not for any cause of Crowley’s. Everything was too much of a reminder, even the diligence of which Crowley wanted to plan for these things. Oh, Crowley was such an attentive lover. He cared more for Aziraphale’s pleasure than his own and would go until Aziraphale couldn’t. Even in things outside of their shared bed, he would do the same. Cared more for Aziraphale’s needs than his own; it was evident in the things he’d packed in the basket. His favorite jacket was in there, and Aziraphale knew in three days’ time, Crowley would be regretting he’d handed it over so soon. Still, he wouldn’t ask for it, and he wouldn’t regret making sure Aziraphale would be comfortable. Even if, by all means, he would be alone.

“Well, I thank you. I wouldn’t want to keep you, though,” Aziraphale smiled weakly. “I’m sure you’ve more important things to do than—”

“I could help with the shop,” Crowley offered. “You’ve got a laundry list of things, I’ve seen it. You can’t get it done on your own.”

“Yes, well. I haven’t been very diligent this year, have I?” Aziraphale laughed.

“So, let me help you,” Crowley pressed. He offered the same thing every year, and each year had been denied on the basis that Aziraphale would be able to complete it himself. This year, though, Crowley was correct. Aziraphale would be unable to finish his list of things without help; he’d put off completing them. Really, for as old as he was and how long he’d been doing this, he ought to be more prepared. It had usually been one of his strong suits, the preparedness. He was left with no other choice but to sigh, then, and agree.

“Alright, I accept. Perhaps you could get some snacks first, though? I can make tea.”

Crowley offered him a soft smile and did that thing he always did, where he put his hand on the side of Aziraphale’s face for a moment, like he wanted to kiss him right there in the middle of the shop. He didn’t, loathe was Aziraphale was for it; there was no kiss. The hand dropped away, and Crowley stepped back out of the shop to go off. Down the street, there was this small little bakery that Aziraphale frequented. He was one of their most loyal customers, they told him—and his whole family, but that was Aziraphale’s little secret. His whole family was him and him alone. The realization made his stomach drop.

Instead of thinking, painfully, about how desperately he wanted a family, Aziraphale took Crowley’s basket upstairs. The bookshop hadn’t come with an apartment, but there wasn’t anything that a little miracle couldn’t solve. It was small, nothing more than a bathroom and a small bed—the kitchenette was downstairs. Aziraphale preferred his meals out or at Crowley’s flat, so it was never an issue: the tight living spaces. None of it was an issue, not even the family part. Aziraphale could pretend it all away while he tidied, while he made tea, and when Crowley arrived back. They each had a pastry, and then they got to work.

But the nagging feeling wouldn’t leave Aziraphale alone. The preparedness. The _planning_. Everything that might come of it but wouldn’t come this time. Aziraphale had said no, already. He’d told Crowley he would not spend this heat with him; maybe if they got angry enough at each other, Aziraphale would tell Crowley he would never spend a heat with him. Crowley would leave, after that, Aziraphale knew. He’d look at Aziraphale as the useless omega that he was, unable to even provide what even Aziraphale wanted to provide. A relationship, a bond, a family—Aziraphale ached for these things, but there was fear. Always with the fear; his teeth clenched while he worked on inventory. Across the room, he could hear Crowley organizing.

The second time, he’d been matched with Uriel. Another Archangel, another _honor_. He should have been grateful. Uriel even had the decency to tell him before anything happened, so he knew. So, it wouldn’t be that nerve-wracking uneasiness while he waited for a partner, when his heat began. He knew it would be Uriel, and he thanked them for that profusely. Still, nothing changed. Uriel was a stickler, more than any of them—even if they were the quietest of the Archangels. Uriel had planned it down to the second, rigorously, and Aziraphale knew exactly what they wanted before he’d even gone into heat.

Uriel hadn’t been cruel, exactly. They’d been quite lovely, if Aziraphale remembered it correctly. But it was on Uriel’s time clock, not his own. If Uriel had decided it was time for the heat to placate, then they would stop—even if Aziraphale’s body had different ideas. It hadn’t been _bad_, and Uriel hadn’t been cruel. They had, however, left Aziraphale to his own devices most of the time. Left him alone, while they went off and did other things. More important things, they’d described. Aziraphale wasn’t an importance to them, just an obligation. They didn’t care, one way or the other, if Aziraphale’s needs were met. It had led to a rather unsavory aftermath, which is what had Aziraphale lingering on about this moment for as long as he did.

Uriel had given him a daughter, and once again, nothing short of a fool, Aziraphale named her Esther. Just like before, after thirty minutes had gone, Esther had been ripped right out of his arms. Aziraphale had cried, vomited truly this time—he’d taken to eating human food, and was sorely reprimanded for it. But, Uriel’s lack of care and over planning had left Aziraphale weak, tired. Angels didn’t get sick, but Aziraphale surely had. Nothing stopped for his health, nothing stopped for his care—as long as he would be back the next time they called him, to produce another baby, Heaven didn’t care. They sent Aziraphale right back down to Earth, where he wandered promptly into the first tavern in Rome he could find.

Crowley had been there. Surprised, as he was, to see Aziraphale at all. They hadn’t seen each other, at that point, in nearly a decade. After Golgotha, after Jesus was crucified on the cross, Aziraphale disappeared. It had been the first nail, so to speak. Crowley had looked for him after that, because it had been such a horrid thing to watch, he thought they both might enjoy a bit of comfort. Aziraphale had agreed, even, to meet him somewhere. Then, without so much as a goodbye, had been whisked off to Heaven to lay with Uriel. Now, there they were, in Rome. Crowley acted as if nothing had happened, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but think that everything had.

Crowley had tried to reconcile at the start of the 14th century. They’d been dancing around each other, he said. They both had eyes for the other, it wasn’t hard to spot. Crowley didn’t even blame Aziraphale for it, because he was full of himself and knew just how desirable he was. Hell had called him back more times than he would count, though it all sounded quite a bit like posturing. Spreading out his feathers, so to say, and Aziraphale fell for every brightly colored yellow one. Like his eyes, always like Crowley’s eyes. Crowley only had eyes for Aziraphale, and something in the air made that known. Even if Crowley talked a big talk, Aziraphale was less pressed to believe him than he believed the scent. It was intoxicating, really, and Aziraphale knew it would be safe. He wasn’t due for a heat, not yet. Not for months—if he fell in with Crowley, there would be no child, and there would be no regret.

They found an inn for the night, and Crowley kissed Aziraphale like Aziraphale had never been kissed before. He melted into it, his flesh against Crowley’s. Crowley’s hands—his _hands_, and his tongue. Everything at once lit up, and Aziraphale fell back onto the bed before he even realized what had happened. Crowley had disrobed him entirely, left him there on the bed with his thighs spread and his cunt dripping. Aziraphale stayed like that, waiting patiently, while Crowley removed his own clothes. In the second after that, Crowley was on top of him, between his thighs, pressed so flush up against him, that Aziraphale could feel the curve of his cock against the plush of his own thigh.

“Christ,” Crowley growled against his neck, “you were made for this, weren’t you?”

“C-Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped when Crowley grabbed him by the hips, pressed them impossibly closer.

“Soft,” Crowley told him, “_beautiful_.”

They were kissing again, after that. Aziraphale had never been called beautiful, especially not by an alpha. Crowley had said it with such a breathless little sigh that there was no room to doubt. Aziraphale _was_ beautiful. His size, his softness—it meant he was good for this. Even if that’s all it meant, at the time, to an alpha lost to the idea of lust. If the only thing Crowley would think of him, then, was that he was prime breeding material, and that their babies would be strong, that was alright. Aziraphale would be fine for it, because Crowley kissed him like the feelings ran deeper. Like there was something more there, stoking a fire neither of them knew existed.

At first, they didn’t seem to have a goal in mind. Crowley was happy to just rut against him, to feel the wet crease of Aziraphale’s folds around his cock. It was a pleasant thing, and it left Aziraphale feeling warm. Like he wanted more—needed more. He’d never felt so pleased in his life, and all they were doing was rolling their hips together. He wasn’t new to this. He didn’t know the number, anymore: how many times he’d been fucked. But it had never been like this. Never. He’d never felt this urge inside him to _beg_ for more of it. At first, he tried not to act on those feelings. It felt wrong, almost, to _want_ this. But this was Crowley. They didn’t have an end goal. There was nothing lording over them that said this had to end in a child—and it wouldn’t. Couldn’t, really. Aziraphale had nothing to lose, and his voice sounded hoarse.

“Crowley,” he tried. “Crowley, please. I want—”

“_Yes_,” Crowley hissed in his ear, shifting back then to take a hold of his prick. Aziraphale shivered when he saw the size of it—this would be a dangerous play if he were able. It would take an alpha like Crowley one chance to get him pregnant, and for the moment, he _wanted_.

When Crowley pressed inside of him, Aziraphale’s head rolled back, and he cried out. The stretch, the fire. All of it was too much, not enough; Aziraphale wanted, wanted, and _wanted._ He didn’t want to wait, when Crowley finally settled inside him; he moved his own hips, trying to take him deeper, to egg him on. Crowley did not have to be told twice. He fucked Aziraphale with abandon, hunched over him with his hips angled just right. All the while, Crowley whispered things into his ear that were so heinous, Aziraphale couldn’t help but come. And come again, as Crowley fucked him through it. Until Crowley came, inside of Aziraphale—and everything went downhill.

Crowley had stepped outside to get something for Aziraphale to eat, a wonderfully sweet gesture that had all but had Aziraphale swooning. That was when he got the call, and no later. He was to be back in Heaven immediately, and not just for a stern reprimanding, but to get ready for his next heat. He’d argued, he’d complained, he’d insisted that it wasn’t to start for at least another month. But they knew. They knew what he’d done and hadn’t even had to say they did. Then the voice told him that the presence of a strong alpha could off-set his body’s clock, Aziraphale knew that they knew. If he didn’t go back, he could risk a punishment worse than a strongly worded letter. He had to leave. He couldn’t even wait for Crowley to return. If he didn’t go willingly, Heaven would come and _get_ him.

So, he left. Just like that. When Crowley would return, the room would be empty. He would be so angry, so upset, so _hurt_, that he would condemn the rest of the century to an utter pile of garbage, in which he, himself, was the crowning glory of what it meant to be discarded. Aziraphale had rather felt the same, really, when he arrived in Heaven.

The third time was the first time Aziraphale hadn’t known the alpha who took him. The alpha was a man who had come in just minutes after Aziraphale’s heat had fully begun and mounted him like a beast. Crowley had made love to him, really, and Aziraphale realized that all at once. This alpha was _savage_. Aziraphale had covered the back of his neck with his hands like it would help, and it did. Only for the lack of a bond, but his hands, his shoulders, the whole of his back—covered in bite marks. He had bruises on his hips, on his thighs. Even the very core of him ached, because the alpha had not let him rest. Even in the moments where he regained himself, the alpha had forced himself over Aziraphale—Aziraphale couldn’t say no. There were punishments for angels who refused their duty, and he had only heard horror stories about them. Even if he didn’t Fall for it, the consequence was something he didn’t want to face.

He took everything the alpha had to give him. Everything that he didn’t want, couldn’t take, and then whatever came after. All of it, and when it was over, Aziraphale didn’t move for days. And when he did move, it was only to confirm that he was, in fact, pregnant. He would stay in Heaven until the birth, and he knew what would happen afterward. They would take his child right out of his arms, and he would never see it again. That didn’t make it hurt any less, nor did it stop Aziraphale from making it hurt worse. He named the child, another boy, Felix. He named the child, coddled the child, and held the child close to his breast until his thirty minutes were up. Just as before, just after, he was returned to Earth to continue his mission.

Only, Crowley wasn’t there.

Crowley was there now, in the bookshop. Aziraphale had his moment of panic alone, in the kitchenette, and then returned to drop Crowley a cup of tea. It wasn’t that Crowley didn’t like to eat or drink, it was just that he tended to do it fast. The occasional cup of tea was wonderful, preferred even, especially when Aziraphale sat down on the floor next to him with his own cup. They were still organizing books, and Crowley had a whole set up around him. Just barely enough room to walk, somehow enough room to sit together.

“You alright?” Crowley asked. He sipped the tea a second later, watching Aziraphale from just over the rim of the cup.

“Me? Yes, I’m fine,” Aziraphale smiled his best smile.

“Seems off,” Crowley replied dimly, smacking his lips as he set the cup down. “Tea’s cold, angel. You were in there an awfully long time.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry!” Aziraphale hadn’t _realized_. “I’ll make you another cup—”

“It’s fine, Aziraphale,” Crowley said. He had his hand over his teacup, and his voice was terribly calm. Aziraphale calmed right with it, immediately, gulping back whatever panic had just risen up. Crowley didn’t often use his name, but it was always a sure-fire thing to ensure they were on the same page. “What kept you?” Crowley asked.

“I was—thinking,” Aziraphale knew he couldn’t lie. Crowley could probably smell the distress on him and had just chosen a different route to bring it up. “This whole business, you know. It’s stressful.”

Crowley snorted, “I can imagine. Wish you’d let me help more.”

“I’m fine, Crowley. I assure you: I’m fine.”

And it was over, just like that. Crowley didn’t press for the reasoning, and Aziraphale got back to work. There were only four days left, now, until Aziraphale’s heat came. The bookshop had to be in proper order before it happened, and Crowley was making the work so much easier. Aziraphale spent much of the day dipping off to himself: to set up his room, to deal with the sudden hot flashes. Anything he needed; Crowley obliged. Somehow, it made things worse. It made things worse than they needed to be.

The fourth time hadn’t been so bad, not at first. Aziraphale hadn’t seen Crowley in some time; getting the call, thusly, wasn’t such a blow. It just meant he had to put things to a halt, for now, and disappear again. It was always harder to disappear with Crowley around, but Crowley wasn’t around. Crowley hadn’t been around for some time, really. There wasn’t even much for Aziraphale to put aside this time; it was essentially stopping his proceedings and go. He’d been attempting, of course, to start up a bookshop. It was taking much more time than it needed to, and this was one of those annoying things that got in the way. The only issue was that this was a necessary annoying thing; it was safer, anyway, for Aziraphale to spend his heats in Heaven. He left the bookshop idea behind and went.

Things all went normally, after that. He wasn’t told who his partner would be, just given a room. A room that was never quite enough for his tastes and always sparsely decorated, but it was a room. The bed was a little larger than he remembered, but it had been some time since he was last here. He wasn’t looking forward to it, this time, either—or he wouldn’t be, if he had had a mind to think about it. His body was in control, and when he was locked in that room, all he could do was tear himself out of his robes and move onto the bed. It was always like this. Moments before the heat hit, Aziraphale loathed every second of it. He loathed the idea, like this—nothing more than a breeding tool, really. He hated not knowing who his partner would be. Worst of all, he hated not knowing how his partner would treat him. He’d grown _standards _since he’d laid with Crowley. Standards that these angels couldn’t meet even if they tried.

And then, to make matters worse, _Gabriel_ walked through the door, this time. Gabriel. The Archangel Gabriel was standing there, suddenly taken aback, in only the way his eyebrows raised, at the smell of Aziraphale’s heat. They stared at each other for a long time, Gabriel’s eyes roaming from Aziraphale’s, down to the spread of his thighs. Aziraphale was already in the pull of it, fully gone and dripping wet. The look on his face alone was enough to give Gabriel cause to stumble forward, removing his coat. He—he’d never looked at Aziraphale like this before. When he’d been told that Aziraphale would be his partner, he’d been skeptical at best. But that was when the information came—information that Aziraphale wasn’t even supposed to know. Gabriel did, now. He knew.

“They said,” Gabriel started, voice a bit lost, “that you were a potent one.”

It wasn’t so much a compliment as it was a clinical observation, but Aziraphale keened, nonetheless. It sounded like praise, and Aziraphale _craved_ praise.

“They said you were good breeding stock—I didn’t believe them,” Gabriel admitted, but everything that came out of his mouth sounded just _fine_. Aziraphale spread himself out wider, listening to Gabriel’s voice, trying to make himself a vision. Gabriel would fall right into place, stripped down to his trousers by the time he made it to the bed. “I believe them now,” Gabriel breathed. Oh, he _breathed_ like Aziraphale was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “You’re going to be so good for me, aren’t you?” Gabriel whispered.

Aziraphale nodded hurriedly, whining from the back of his throat when Gabriel’s hand pressed down over his chest. This was different. This wasn’t a quick and fast thing, happening only because it was supposed to. Gabriel was looking at him with eyes that said something different; he hadn’t come in and immediately taken Aziraphale. He was—he was _playing_ with him. Gabriel brushed over his nipples, squeezed at the extra flesh around his chest, and trailed his hand down. All the while, they stared at each other. Until Gabriel had dipped his fingers down between Aziraphale’s folds, and Aziraphale’s head shot back with a moan. He’d heard stories about Gabriel; those lucky enough to be his partner had told stories, none that Aziraphale had believed. He still didn’t believe them, because they didn’t compare. They would never match up to the slow, calculated little circles Gabriel made around Aziraphale’s clit. The way he pressed into the skin beneath, down over his dripping hole.

“That’s right,” Gabriel coaxed him along when Aziraphale raised his hips, when he moaned. When he spread his thighs a little wider. “You can say something, too, you know,” Gabriel whispered. He was close enough that they could _kiss_—oh, Aziraphale hadn’t been kissed in so long. He ached for it. But asking for things, that was almost unheard of. He was just supposed to be there to take whatever was given, but Gabriel urged him to do _more_.

“G-Gabriel,” Aziraphale gasped, rolling his hips again.

“Just like that,” Gabriel muttered. He rewarded Aziraphale with a kiss, a hard and heavy one where their tongues mixed, and Aziraphale was left feeling dizzy and lightheaded. That was when Gabriel’s fingers dipped just inside his cunt, and Aziraphale nearly came right there.

Gabriel treated him like a _person_—an angel, really, but not just a means to an end. Gabriel had kissed him, caressed him. Aziraphale had come more times than he ever had, and it wasn’t just a side effect. Sure, Gabriel had fucked him—Gabriel had fucked him well, and Aziraphale would never forget the way it had felt the first time Gabriel sank inside of him. But oh, everything else—everything else had been _wonderful_. He’d used his mouth, his tongue, his fingers. He laid back and had Aziraphale on top of him, bouncing to find his own pleasure. Everything had been wild and different, and they had _kissed_. Gabriel had held him when they were finished, let Aziraphale curl up with his head on his chest and sleep. Aziraphale had never experienced that, not even with Crowley—

When their son was born, Gabriel was in the room. Gabriel was the one who deposited the little fledgling into Aziraphale’s arms, and it had been such a tender moment. Gabriel had sat on the bed with them, watching. He’d even helped—he’d been there to _help_. That was a story Aziraphale hadn’t heard before; there was no way to know if this was for him or if it was just something Gabriel did. He sincerely hoped it was something Gabriel had done for him, because there was something more than just an obligation. Gabriel had even been the one to bring up the name. The name, always so important; Aziraphale was one of the only omegas left who still wanted to give their fledgling a name.

“What do you think, then?” Gabriel asked. “He looks a good strong boy. He needs a name to match. Have you had any thoughts?”

“I did have a few,” Aziraphale said, beaming. “But seeing him, I think Elijah.”

“Elijah,” Gabriel repeated, looking at the babe. He seemed to agree with the name and let his knuckle’s brush over Elijah’s cheek while he slept.

That was the first time Aziraphale was allowed longer than the thirty minutes. Gabriel made sure of it. Thirty minutes had melted into three hours before it was finally time for Elijah to go. It was the first time that Aziraphale had handed over the baby willingly; he did not get sick afterward either. Afterward, Gabriel had stayed just long enough to ensure that wouldn’t happen. Like all the alphas, he would leave, and nothing would come of anything they’d done. But, Aziraphale had been grateful for what little time they had shared together. Even if it had left him feeling confused. He never liked feeling confused, and once he was back on Earth, he knew there was only one person he could go to for help about this—this confusion. He hadn’t planned a single thing he would say to Crowley, but he had planned exactly how to find him. Not so much find him as pull him out of his hiding place, when Aziraphale found himself a prisoner in the Bastille.

If it had been any other situation, Crowley might have left time frozen and finally, _finally_ done what he wanted with Aziraphale. Crowley was too much of a gentleman, though, and when he had freed Aziraphale—they got crepes. Crowley paid, of course, because he always did. Which left them the night to themselves. Aziraphale hadn’t said a word about where he was or what he’d been up to—he was too afraid that Crowley would think differently of him if he knew. Maybe most of it was in Aziraphale’s head, but he could see what kind of status Crowley might have in Hell for his nature alone. He was the type of alpha who would only be presented with virgin omegas, to be their first experience, to give them the strongest child possible. Aziraphale was nothing like that. Aziraphale was _beyond_ seconds, at this point, and it hurt a bit to think about. To talk about, he imagined, would have been worse. So, they didn’t talk about it.

Even in present, where Crowley had gone to fetch Aziraphale some water, they didn’t talk about it. At that time, Aziraphale had been trying to sort out his feelings. Was he attached to an act of kindness, or was he attached to the person behind it? Originally—he’d thought the former. He couldn’t actually be attached to Crowley, and he certainly couldn’t _love_ Crowley. Crowley was a demon. He shouldn’t love Crowley, and how would Crowley ever be able to love him? Demons couldn’t do that, could they? The Almighty had taken it from them when they Fell. Crowley was a being of hate and anger, not of love and grace. There’s no way that Aziraphale could have ever felt anything for him.

It had been the fear talking, of course, because Crowley sat on the sofa next to him and ensured he drank all the water. Then, when the glass was set off to the side, he offered Aziraphale his shoulder to lay on, with Crowley’s arm wrapped around him. Aziraphale felt safe, there, where he could press his face into Crowley’s neck and _smell_ just how much Crowley cared about him. If they were bonded, truly bonded, he would even be able to _feel_ how Crowley cared about him. Loved him. And it was love; Aziraphale knew that now. He’d always known it, but he wasn’t afraid to admit it anymore. What he’d thought had been love once had been just kind actions, a newfound obligation in which an alpha was supposed to be _kind_ to their omega, regardless of personal feelings.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale muttered. He certainly _sounded_ like he was only days away from his heat.

“What is it, angel?”

“I love you,” he whispered. Crowley held onto him a little tighter and said nothing, but in his silence, he said all Aziraphale needed to know. Crowley still _wanted._ Crowley would never stop wanting what Aziraphale wouldn’t give him, and Aziraphale felt a bit sick.

The fifth time had been the worst time, disregarding what would happen in the future. Aziraphale’s heart had swelled when it was _Gabriel_, again, who came to join him for his heat. Aziraphale and Crowley had just had a fight, over _holy water_, and this would be all the fix he needed. Gabriel would climb into bed with him, whisper soft things, and make him feel so good. Crowley didn’t _matter_ anymore, not when Gabriel cupped his face and kissed him, rutted against him without a goal in mind. Crowley didn’t matter when Gabriel could do it all, the same, and better. When Gabriel sunk inside him, again, Aziraphale didn’t even have to worry whose name he would call.

“Gabriel!” he cried out, hips working on their own. Gabriel smiled down above him, petting back his hair and working him slowly.

Oh, there were words shared between them. Love hadn’t been one of them, but somehow Aziraphale could _feel_ it. He could feel it in the way Gabriel held him, took care of him. It had been exactly like before, only Gabriel fucked him longer, held him closer. All of it was exactly the more that Aziraphale had been wanting, as if Gabriel knew exactly what he had to do to please him. And he was very pleased. Full, warm, with such a pleasant little tingle down the back of his spine that could do nothing but beg for more. In any way that Gabriel would have him, he obliged. Gabriel obliged in return and made him feel good. There had been so many empty, worthless heats where he couldn’t find release on his own. Gabriel made up for all of it, _all_ of it. Even the part where Aziraphale thought about Crowley, when it was all over.

Crowley had never shared a heat with him, but they _had_ slept together. Not just the one time. That’s why the meeting at St. James’ Park had been so dreadful, because Aziraphale had been dreadful. Crowley trusted him with something so important, so intimate, and Aziraphale had brushed it all off on a lie and _fraternizing_. That’s not what they’d been doing—but maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe Gabriel would sweep him off his feet instead and make him feel whole. Maybe they would be the first angels to bond together, forever, and they could have that family that Aziraphale had always wanted. It seemed a good thing to bet on, especially when the year had passed.

Aziraphale had given birth to a beautiful little girl, and Gabriel had held her before she was taken to be cleaned. But things didn’t feel right. Things didn’t feel _done_, and Aziraphale had gasped, cried, and another little girl had followed right after. Both in equal beauty with purple eyes and blonde hair; they were lovely, and Aziraphale couldn’t wait to have them in his arms. To name them—he’d had _twins._ It was almost unheard of for angels to have twins, but Gabriel looked _proud._ He hadn’t gone off to help with the fledglings, this time. Instead, he came over to sit next to Aziraphale and brush his hair back.

“They said that Elijah turned out to be marvelously strong,” Gabriel told him. He shouldn’t tell him, but he had to. “He’s doing quite well, I hear. Leading his own gathering, too.”

Aziraphale broke into a smile, “That’s—that’s wonderful.”

Gabriel tilted his head to the side, letting his hand rest on Aziraphale’s cheek. “Is something wrong? You don’t look as happy as I thought you would.”

“It’s just—I keep thinking. I can’t stop myself,” Aziraphale folded his arms. “I know that’s bad, but I can’t help it.”

“It’s not bad for you to have a mind, sunshine,” Gabriel said. “What have you been thinking about?”

“You,” Aziraphale admitted. He felt a fool for it, but he wasn’t himself. Post-heat, post-child—Aziraphale’s mind was elsewhere, he would blame his actions on this for the rest of his life, if he had to. “I can’t help but—I want to _be_ with you. Maybe we could even _bond,_ you seem—” it was a laugh that cut Aziraphale off.

“Oh—no, no,” Gabriel was trying to keep his laughter to himself. “No, they would never allow that, anyway. Not that I would _want_ to. The only reason we’ve spent two heats together is because Elijah turned out to be such a prime specimen. They wanted to see if we could do it again, and I think we will. You can name them, of course. I don’t really care,” he said, a snort.

Aziraphale’s heart shattered.

“Did you think I _liked_ you, Aziraphale?” Gabriel looked shocked. “We were compatible—I treat _all_ my omegas well. You should know that. They tell plenty of stories.” He was proud of himself. He had the audacity to be proud of himself, and maybe he had the right, too. Aziraphale had just been the only one stupid enough to think he was special, to think he was the only one that Gabriel would treat so well. Gabriel was just that kind of alpha. It didn’t matter who the omega was or how he felt about them, he would treat them well regardless. It’s what made him popular. It’s probably what made his children so strong.

These children would be equally strong, and it wouldn’t matter what they ended up being. Miriam and Mayim, Aziraphale named them—powerful little girls who would grow up to do no different than Elijah did. It would be the last time Aziraphale and Gabriel shared a heat, though. The last super-fledgling they would make. Aziraphale was sure of it, because he’d fucked everything up. If he could have kept his mouth shut, maybe Gabriel would have been his partner for the rest of his life. It would have been nearly the same as a bond. Nearly. Not enough to make Aziraphale happy, and they would never have a family. But it would have been better than this _empty _feeling he had when Gabriel didn’t stay to see the twins. When they were taken from Aziraphale thirty minutes later.

This time, Aziraphale didn’t just get sick, but he did something _stupid._ If Heaven ever found out, he’d receive something worse than a strongly worded note. He’d be punished for stealing Holy Water, the Holiest—straight from Heaven, not just scooped up from a church. He should have known, really, with the church. He should have. Crowley had no reason to come for him then, and he wouldn’t have any reason to come for him now. Even if Aziraphale had finally lost the rest of his mind and stolen _Holy Water_ for a demon. He’d lost the last bit of whatever it was he ever had in the first place, so this would be meaningless. It was a last-ditch effort, and still.

Still, there was fear when he handed over the thermos. Crowley looked at him, and even through the glasses, had this look in his eye that Aziraphale could see. Aziraphale hadn’t expected to find him, and certainly hadn’t expected to hear about him planning some ridiculous heist. But he wouldn’t have to, now. He had what he needed, from Aziraphale’s own hands, and Aziraphale still couldn’t give him the rest. He wouldn’t let himself believe so quickly that what he wanted could be what Crowley wanted, and that Crowley would want it with _him._ That Crowley wouldn’t hear about his past, know how often he’d been used as a breeding tool, and really still _want_ him. He wouldn’t share, and therefore, he would never risk losing Crowley. Maybe he would never have Crowley, either, not really, but it was better this way.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley,” Aziraphale said.

Fast had proved a dangerous thing, after all. Even with the way the bookshop was falling back into place, Crowley still seemed to move at Aziraphale’s speed and no faster. His help meant the bookshop would be done in time for Aziraphale’s heat, but nothing more would happen. Aziraphale even feared for it, but what would he gain by asking for more? What if Crowley denied him? Or worse: what if Crowley accepted? That was commitment, and commitment always left room for heartbreak. What they were doing was fine—it was fine. They were both aching, but it was better than the potential of never seeing each other again. Aziraphale had made that mistake of moving too fast once, and it had all but ruined everything. _Everything_. He wouldn’t do that with Crowley. Even if it meant Crowley would never really know him, never truly have him. It would keep them safe.

“I’d like sushi for dinner tonight,” Aziraphale said, because it was the safe thing to have.

“I’ll fetch it whenever you like, just say the word,” Crowley replied, because that’s what he always said. It was beginning to feel mundane.

Aziraphale wanted more.

More had gotten him in so much trouble, wanting more. The sixth time had been the worst time. It was Aziraphale’s own fault, so what could he do but _take it_? That’s all he was good for. He wasn’t meant for a family; he wasn’t meant for a true mate. He was there to be fucked, bred, and discarded. The sixth time, Sandalphon had been his partner. No doubt by request, Aziraphale couldn’t help but thinking. It was a fitting punishment for making a fool of an Archangel, that the cruelest of them would bed him next. And Sandalphon was cruel. Everything that happened happened because it would hurt Aziraphale, because it would make him cry. There was no care, there was no finesse, or consideration when Sandalphon dragged him to the edge of the bed and bent him over.

Aziraphale had gripped into the blankets, bitten into them to keep from crying out, but the tears flowed without permission. Every punishing thrust, every painful _slap_, every drag of Sandalphon’s nails over his back—it was like a mark of ownership. At least Sandalphon didn’t bite, but he did everything else he could to leave Aziraphale broken and red, without a break. The only rest he ever had was when Sandalphon wanted one, which was rare. In the two weeks a heat took, Sandalphon wanted three breaks total. One had been to retrieve a _human_ thing, because he’d heard how much Aziraphale liked those.

It had been black, smooth, and shaped like a cock. Sandalphon thought it was _funny_ when Aziraphale choked on it. It had been _entertainment_ when Aziraphale’s cunt could only stretch so far to accommodate—but Sandalphon had forced it inside along his own prick anyway. Just to hear the way Aziraphale could wail for him, could beg to make it stop. It wouldn’t stop, no matter how loudly Aziraphale screamed or begged or cried. Sandalphon kept pushing until he’d forced Aziraphale’s body to do what he wanted. Even when that meant damage—Sandalphon didn’t care. Heats were expected to get rough; Aziraphale wasn’t the only angel who had ever had a rough partner. Many of them suffered this, through the pain when Sandalphon kept no mind for him. There was blood—Aziraphale recalled that. There was so much _blood_, and still, Sandalphon had continued.

It hadn’t even been about the heat, after that, what Sandalphon did. He was certain Aziraphale would be pregnant no matter what they did, because that’s what Aziraphale was _for. _He would take it because that’s what Sandalphon wanted, and it was _expected_ for him to get pregnant. If Aziraphale didn’t have another baby at the end of this, it would be his fault. Not Sandalphon’s. They’d consider him an obsolete omega, past his breeding time, and he’d be scorned. He was already considered _used. _He’d heard the other angels talking about it before, and it always cut deep. He was a used omega; he’d pushed so many babies out that his cunt was stretched and broken. Reasonably, it made no sense, but it would mean more things like _this_. Where alphas like Sandalphon were all that would take him, and he would cry his way through it.

“You’re a slut,” Sandalphon spat at him. He was prick deep in Aziraphale’s arse, using Aziraphale’s hips as leverage points to drag him back over his cock. To make him fuck himself, really, and Aziraphale could do nothing but oblige. It had been a week and a half, nearly, and Aziraphale hadn’t come once from this. Sandalphon just kept going—oh, he never stopped. Aziraphale had woken up that morning with Sandalphon’s cock inside him, and he’d nearly wretched at the idea of what had been done in his sleep. He had—there was no way to know. No way to find past the aches which were old, and which were new.

“You like that, don’t you?” Sandalphon asked, and oh he seemed so desperately pleased with himself. “_Beg _for it.”

“P-Please—” Aziraphale tried, and then Sandalphon slapped his arse so hard the sting bled up into his back. “Please!” Aziraphale shouted. “F-fuck me harder, please. I want it—I want you; I want your cock—!”

“That’s more like it,” Sandalphon grinned.

It couldn’t be over soon enough, and even when it was over, the ache was so much that Aziraphale didn’t even _believe_ it was over, not until he woke up in the room alone. Sandalphon hadn’t stayed to do anything, not after the heat was over. Aziraphale was left a sticky, disgusting mess, with all the responsibility of cleaning himself up. He had to be presentable, he had to _present_—they would tell him the horrid, unfortunate news that he already knew. He was carrying Sandalphon’s child, and for the next _year_, he’d be stuck with Sandalphon. Even if Sandalphon couldn’t, and probably wouldn’t, touch him while he was with child, the thought still made him sick. Even if the thought had crossed his mind that he didn’t want this child, it wouldn’t have been an option.

Aziraphale would clean himself, vomit, and shower again. He would carry the baby to term, even with Sandalphon hovering and whispering _nasty_ things to him, and he would hold his son in his arms. Just like before, Aziraphale was alone for the delivery and alone when they handed him the baby. It was just him and one small boy, who had been miraculously blessed to look not a thing like his father. He looked like Aziraphale, from the tip of his nose to the color of his hair. Aziraphale’s heart swelled when he saw him, and he felt as if, for once, his punishment had been ended early. He named the child Cedric, and when they came to take him, he didn’t cry this time. He’d be alright, this time.

There had been no fight with Crowley to keep them apart when he was sent back to Earth. Maybe his excuse had been horrendous, that he’d had some blessing duty down in _Antarctica_, but Crowley hadn’t pressed, and Aziraphale would be able to see him when he returned to Earth. It had been the one saving grace, the one thing he knew would get him through this. When they’d seen each other after that, Crowley had immediately known something was wrong. He didn’t ask, he just took Aziraphale into his arms and held him so closely, Aziraphale hadn’t room to think himself at all separate.

That feeling had just grown. It took on a life of its own. Whenever Crowley looked at Aziraphale, even as close as he was just beside him on the sofa, they felt distant. Aziraphale didn’t like the distance, and it was perhaps the first time he’d ever really thought about what it would be like to be so close with Crowley that, even countries apart, they would be able to feel each other. Down to the beat of their hearts. He wanted that, but he was afraid. After that time with Sandalphon, his heats had come quicker. His body had prepared itself for another child _faster_, and that usually wasn’t a good sign. That usually meant that an angel was coming to the end of their breeding life, and that would make Aziraphale worthless. Useless. Just an extra face to have around. It didn’t mean he was _done_, no, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but think of the possibility. If he invited Crowley into his bed, for this heat, would he even be able to carry Crowley’s child?

Would Crowley hate him if he couldn’t?

“Crowley?” Aziraphale croaked.

“Hm?” Crowley looked up from his phone immediately, almost jerking. They’d been sitting in silence for what felt like hours. It had only been thirty minutes, but Aziraphale had needed the time to rest. His heat was to come, soon. The preparations his body was making left him exhausted, at the best of times, and he’d never been so grateful for Crowley’s help.

“Would you—I mean that is to say, what if you…?” he pressed his hands together in his lap and breathed. Crowley reached over to lay his own hands on top of Aziraphale’s, giving him a soft look.

“Anything, angel. You just have to ask.” Crowley _always_ said that. He didn’t do things without Aziraphale asking, not if they were important things. It was because he _cared. _He wanted—needed—to know that everything that happened between them was something Aziraphale wanted, and every time he reminded Aziraphale of it, it just made Aziraphale feel weak in the knees.

“My mark, I mean,” Aziraphale started slow. “It’s almost gone.”

“Happens like that,” Crowley said, “when it’s not a real mark.” Except it was real, it was there. Fading, but the mark was there on Aziraphale’s neck. It just wasn’t a _bond_ mark. Still, Crowley’s choice of words meant just as much as it sounded.

“Would you maybe redo it? The day before? I mean—last time, it helped. I—I liked having it.”

Crowley drew in a deep breath and, unable to really deny Aziraphale anything, slumped back into the sofa as he nodded. “Yeah. Anything you want.”

The seventh and the eighth time had happened all so fast, Aziraphale barely remembered them. The seventh time had been yet another alpha he didn’t know, and only because he had cried. They’d told him, ahead of time, that Sandalphon was to be his partner again. One more round with him, and Aziraphale was sure he wouldn’t _survive_ it, so he had cried and begged and pleaded until they agreed. It meant he didn’t know his alpha, but that was fine, he didn’t care. He did what any good omega was supposed to do and presented on his hands and knees. The alpha was fine enough, fucked him and finished him. Aziraphale had another girl, he named her Elisha, and he cried when they took her away. The eighth time was time enough that he was _sure_ Heaven believed he was about done, because even his alpha was older. Raphael was an Archangel, though he was mostly retired at this point. He kept to himself and to traditions, so when Aziraphale had tried to just go through the motions, Raphael had been almost _upset_ by it.

They’d talked through part of the heat, and through the other part, Raphael had been kind to him. Kinder than Gabriel had been, really, but Aziraphale knew better than to think it was anything other than obligation. Besides, the Anti-Christ had been born, and Aziraphale needed to get back to Earth to thwart Crowley and his evil plans. In reality, he just wanted to get back to Crowley. Having what Heaven believed was his last fledgling meant he could do that, for a time. Until they figured out he probably had a few more in him. Raphael had made it nice, for a last time, and Aziraphale certainly felt pleasant when it was all over. He’d had a son, and he hadn’t felt at all warm when Raphael stayed with him afterward.

They agreed on the name Faust, and just as all the other times, Aziraphale would never see his son again. Thirty minutes passed, Faust was gone, and so was Raphael—Aziraphale had never felt freer.

Everything, then, had happened in the way that it did. They almost lost each other, and Crowley learned in the worst way possible what Aziraphale was. It had been to protect each other; after that night in Crowley’s flat, where they had laid together in Crowley’s bed, and things felt right, they had swapped bodies. It was for the best, and all at once, it was for the worst. Crowley would survive the Hell Fire they put him in, in Aziraphale’s body, because that’s what he was made of—the fire. He only barely survived the words that left Gabriel’s mouth when he went to take his leave.

“You know he’ll never want you,” Gabriel said. “You’re used. How many alphas have you had? How many _fledglings_?” all with a laugh. Crowley’s blood had boiled, but he tucked it all away nicely to the back of his mind for when he met Aziraphale. It would be better if Aziraphale didn’t know that he knew. Better for them both, really, in the long run—it might terrify Aziraphale to know his secret was out. Even if it hurt Crowley in all the worst ways to know what Gabriel had said. Not because of _what_ he said, but of how he said it. That had been the same, snide voice Aziraphale had been listening to for years. He no doubt believed every word Gabriel said to him, even if that meant thinking so poorly of himself, he refused to give himself over to Crowley.

Crowley wanted him more than ever, now. To hold him and tell him it would be alright.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks kids!!! I love writing a giant fic all at once and being afraid to post it one chapter. scary business.

Aziraphale wanted more. He realized that when he’d shuffled off his jacket to expose his neck. His heat would start tomorrow, and Crowley would be gone. He wouldn’t see Crowley for two weeks, and even then, it was on the assumption he could convince Crowley to come back to him. Each time he shoved Crowley away was just another chance to lose him, and it had taken him the week to come to that conclusion. He’d been afraid that the truth would chase Crowley from him, but the truth might not be the only thing that would do that. When he thought back on his heats, his time with Crowley: the differences were night and day. Even the times where it hadn’t hurt, where it hadn’t left him sick and in pain—they didn’t stand up to the way that Crowley cared about him, even outside of a heat. Crowley was always there, always surrounding him.

At first, Aziraphale had assumed that radiating _thing_ of Crowley’s to just be some alpha trait. It just made omegas submit, or weak, or easier to bed. It was something angels didn’t have, but it was something demons did. That had been, as always, the fear talking. Now, he knew that that was _love_. Crowley had loved him from the beginning, from the Garden, but Crowley’s love didn’t have to be unconditional. He’d already threatened to leave once; next time, it didn’t have to be a threat. It could be worse—he might _actually_ leave. It would be better for him to leave because he was just _that_ disgusted with Aziraphale than it would be for him to leave because Aziraphale was too afraid to keep him around. All at once, he changed his mind—he changed his mind so quickly that he had to cover his neck to keep Crowley from biting.

“Wait—!” Aziraphale whirled around. Crowley recoiled like he’d been slapped.

“I—you _asked_—”

“No! No, that’s not—Crowley, wait,” Aziraphale went after him before Crowley could go too far, before he could let himself believe that Aziraphale had changed his mind about _him._ Aziraphale’s hands were around his face, warmer than they should be, and Aziraphale’s lips parted when he tried to form the words. All Crowley could do was put his hand over Aziraphale’s and stroke his knuckles.

“What is it?” Crowley whispered. “Please, tell me. I can’t take much more of this.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” Aziraphale closed his eyes. He leaned forward to press his forehead into Crowley’s chest, then took a shuddering breath. “I want you to stay.”

“What?”

“I want you to _stay_,” Aziraphale said, louder. He dropped his hands down to grip into Crowley’s jacket. “Oh, Crowley, I’m tired of it—I’m tired of myself, at this point. I’ve done nothing but push you away, and I won’t—I won’t do it again. I _need_ you to stay.”

“To stay,” Crowley repeated like he didn’t believe it. “For your heat? Aziraphale—”

“Yes, Crowley, for my heat. Please, please, _please_, don’t leave me this time. I won’t ask you to go, I want you to _stay_.”

Crowley tilted up Aziraphale’s head and kissed him, all at once, with all the energy that he could muster. They stumbled back until they hit the wall, the force of Crowley’s kiss, and Aziraphale _groaned_. Crowley’s hands were in his hair, over his skin, and his body was pressed up against Aziraphale’s like this was the last kiss they would ever have. It wouldn’t be, not yet. Aziraphale knew—but it was bothering him, still. They had time. They had less than twenty-four hours, but it was still time. He wouldn’t invite Crowley into his bed if Crowley didn’t know what he was, what he’d been through. He pushed Crowley back, even when it hurt them both to part.

“We should go upstairs,” Aziraphale whispered. “I have so much to tell you—I need to tell you everything before I lose myself, and I can’t.”

Crowley already knew, but Aziraphale didn’t know that. Crowley agreed to hear him out, and they went upstairs—the first real time that Crowley had seen Aziraphale’s little hovel. His nest. His nest was scarcer than Crowley would have thought, but the only part of it that really mattered was his own jacket laid out on Aziraphale’s bed. His favorite jacket, that he had regretted handing over so soon, but he would have never thought to ask for it back. The nest already looked slept in, like this was where Aziraphale had curled up every night to try and find some relief. It was there that they sat, on the edge of the bed, and Aziraphale talked.

He told Crowley about the heats, about how Heaven treated it. A means to an end, nothing personal. At all—he’d never gotten to see any of his children after they’d been taken. He didn’t know what they looked like; he didn’t even know if they were still _alive_. Which led him back to the fact that, yes, he’d had children. Fledglings, they were called, because Heaven didn’t do personal. But he’d had nine of them—twins made it an odd number, and it was just a bit of lightness in the air around them. Crowley didn’t smile, and Aziraphale felt stiff. He continued; he even named his children—even if that left a weird look on Crowley’s face. And then came the question. What had Crowley experienced?

“Nothing,” he answered. “When Hell called, I told them to fuck off,” he admitted. “They didn’t fight back.”

“You just…told them no? You’ve never—?”

“Oh, I have. With demons, humans—_You_, obviously. But you know. Never a heat.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said rather dumbly. Crowley had never spent a heat with anyone—because he. Well. He thought it was disgusting, the way heats were treated. Like a means to an end. Like omegas were breeding machines that existed solely to have children. He thought it was _bad_, even for Satan, and to know that Heaven’s system was identical made it even worse. To know that Aziraphale had suffered through that system made it the worst thing Crowley could imagine. It made him sick, it made him angry—it made him want to ensure Aziraphale never went through it again, and that was when Aziraphale’s smile dropped off.

“I won’t go through it again,” Aziraphale admitted. “They’re pretty sure I’m done—I can’t have children anymore.”

“But you’re having heats—”

“The childbearing part doesn’t come as often as the heats do,” Aziraphale shrugged. His eyes were down on the floor, and Crowley understood that all at once. Aziraphale _wanted_ kids. He wanted a child that he could call his own, that he could hold and nurse and raise. And more than that, he wanted those children with Crowley. If Crowley couldn’t give him that, it was quite literally his last chance to ever have what he’d been _dreaming_ of for six-thousand years. Crowley smiled at him and tilted his head up, Aziraphale’s, to press a kiss into his lips. Just a gentle one, just a taste.

“When you wake up tomorrow,” Crowley said, “you will be so deep in heat you’ll be _begging_ for me.” Aziraphale shuddered, leaning closer to follow the touch of Crowley’s finger. “Once _I__’ve_ had my way with you,” Crowley’s voice dropped, dangerous and low, “you’ll thank me. You’ll have my baby.”

Aziraphale _believed_ him. Crowley seemed so sure of himself: the look on his face, the touch of his hand, all of it said that he was positive he could get Aziraphale pregnant. Even if that was an impossible thing—if Aziraphale really was past his prime. Crowley didn’t seem to care if he was, either. Even if a pregnancy was impossible, Crowley sure as Hell wanted to give it a shot. Aziraphale wanted it too, even if a child would just be a pleasant side effect. He wanted Crowley to have him fully, to take him during his heat, to mate with him and _breed_ him—to do everything he’d been dreaming about for centuries. And the best of it—Crowley had been _right._

When Aziraphale woke up, he was naked, and he was hot. He was sweating. He was _wet_. The spread between his thighs was ignorable, but the fact that he was _alone_. Crowley wasn’t in the bed with him, and Aziraphale _did_ recall falling asleep together. He’d been curled up in Crowley’s arms, pressed against his neck, and—there was no need to panic. Crowley was in the bathroom; Aziraphale could hear the shower water running. There really was no reason for the shower, not with what kinds of _things_ they would be doing the minute he left, but Crowley had to have been nervous. It accounted for the smell, the strange spinning Aziraphale could feel. Crowley had never shared a heat with anyone, this was _new_, and he could no doubt smell Aziraphale through the walls. The shower ended quickly.

There wasn’t more than second, then, between the shower clicking off, and Crowley crawling over top Aziraphale to kiss him. Crowley straddled him, pressing into the soft flesh of his hips as he rolled his own, groaning into their kiss. Aziraphale was almost too gone to notice how _different_ it felt. If he’d been any farther away, he wouldn’t have noticed, but—he _did_ notice, and pushed Crowley back, away from the kiss. Crowley all but growled at him, but he saw the look on Aziraphale’s face and stopped all at once. It wasn’t that something was wrong, it was just that something wasn’t right. It made sense, of course. Crowley had slept with demons, but Aziraphale had only slept with _one_ demon, and certainly not during a heat.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale’s hand wandered down far enough to confirm what he could feel, and Crowley gasped when Aziraphale’s fingers brushed over his cocks. Cocks. Plural, and “you’ve never—” Aziraphale croaked. “Not in all the times that we’ve—”

“No, you weren’t in _heat_, then,” Crowley groaned. He rolled into Aziraphale’s hands, trying to coax him into grabbing, stroking, doing _something_. Aziraphale almost obliged, but his eyes were glossed over. He was rapidly losing whatever ability to think he had.

“What does that have to—what does that have to do with anything?” he asked.

“Demons—demons go into a _rut_,” Crowley groaned, leaning down. He pressed his lips into Aziraphale’s neck, urging him to lean his head to the side. “You do fucking _amazing_ things to me, I can’t control it. It just—it happens. Makes it better.”

“_Oh_,” Aziraphale gasped.

“Yeah—’oh’. Can we get on with it, please? If you’re just going to touch, I’m going to lose my mind,” Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale, at any other time, would have taken a deep breath and been rather nervous about the whole affair. Instead, he gripped one of Crowley’s cocks and tugged, stroked against him just enough that Crowley rolled his hips into the touch. He was just as lost in this as Aziraphale was, and they hadn’t even—they hadn’t even _begun_, yet. Something about it made Aziraphale dizzy, and when Crowley leaned down to swallow him in a kiss, he was no one to refuse. He pressed up, against Crowley, taking both his cocks in hand now. Crowley was already dripping, precome spread down over him with every pass of Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale brushed his thumb over the tip of one cock, and Crowley nearly keened against his lips.

He’d never reciprocated during a heat. Aziraphale had always just done what he was told: laid there and taken whatever whim the alpha had. Crowley, though. Crowley was different. Crowley was gasping against him, kissing along his lips, his jaw, and down over his necks. His hands were never idle, either, caressing down over Aziraphale’s sides and gripping at him. Crowley _adored_ every part of Aziraphale, from the plump press of his lips to the rolls of his stomach, the plush of his chest. Crowley palmed over his nipples, listening to the way Aziraphale gasped and arched into his touch. If it was anyone other than Crowley, Aziraphale would have laid back and let him do what he wanted, but this was _Crowley_. Crowley cared about him; Aziraphale cared that they would both enjoy this.

“How do you want this?” Crowley asked, though his voice was nearly gone. It was a hoarse rumble in Aziraphale’s ear, almost masked over by Aziraphale’s moans. Crowley had taken a tight grip on his tits and was rolling them together, pressing into his nipples, and lighting fires that Aziraphale hadn’t really known existed.

“I—I want your bite as soon as possible. Oh, Crowley, please, I want—” Aziraphale gasped when Crowley’s _teeth_ touched his neck, down over the bits of skin that were just too sensitive.

“You want to be _mine_,” Crowley hissed.

Aziraphale couldn’t even respond to that, he just rolled his head to the side and groaned. He wanted to be Crowley’s more than he’d ever wanted anything, and if not for the heavy weight against his hips where Crowley sat, he would have rolled onto his stomach to take his bite now. Crowley had other plans, though. Crowley wanted to take this _slow._ He wanted to savor every jolt and jump of Aziraphale’s body, to watch the way he moved in the height of pleasure.

Crowley pulled back until he was sitting between Aziraphale’s spread thighs, far enough back that he could get a good look at Aziraphale, from the glazed-over look in his eyes to the dripping mess of his cunt. What a beautiful cunt it was, and Crowley licked his lips as he dragged his thumb over the fat lips. When Aziraphale gasped, his entire body trembled. His thighs shook, his chest rolled. He was a veritable _feast_, and Crowley wasn’t about to hold himself back. He couldn’t—not even if he tried. Aziraphale would have no complaints about it, either. He _knew_ just how wonderful Crowley was with his mouth, with his tongue. When Crowley started to move, Aziraphale _knew_.

“Oh—Crowley! Crowley, Crowley, please—” Aziraphale gasped, rolling his hips. “I need you. I need you now! Please don’t—”

“Hush,” Crowley told him, bit of a growl. There was no need to say another word.

Crowley lapped at him, first, over the dripping slit of him where he was most wet. He’d made quite a mess on the bed already, and Crowley would be damned if he let another drop go to waste. Oh, it would be messy, and Aziraphale’s thighs clenched around his shoulders when that tongue dipped into him. Just a bit. Crowley pulled back again to lick a thick stripe up Aziraphale’s cunt, to where his clit was tucked up nicely under a thick hood. He pulled back on it, Aziraphale’s skin, and pressed his lips over the little nub. Aziraphale cried out, his hips jerking. The sensation of it drove right up his spine, and he could hardly control the movement of his body.

“Touch yourself, angel,” Crowley said before diving back down. And who was Aziraphale to deny that request? If it would make Crowley _proud _of him, oh—Aziraphale grasped at his chest, tweaking his nipples between his fingers.

Crowley rewarded him well, pressing his tongue back inside. Aziraphale opened right up for it, and the taste was immaculate. Crowley could spend the rest of his life between Aziraphale’s thighs, and he’d never tire of it. He mouthed over Aziraphale, pressed into his labia, and licked inside of him. He’d pressed so close that his nose had buried against Aziraphale’s clit, that his chin brushed just at the end of Aziraphale’s slit. It made Aziraphale cry out for more, and Crowley provided. His tongue was enough to fill him, to press into every spot and—and _more_. There was something just right inside that Crowley brushed, and Aziraphale nearly shouted with it, when he came.

Aziraphale was messy at the best of times, but _this_. Crowley had never seen it and had certainly never felt it: the way that Aziraphale practically gushed into his mouth. A sudden rush of slick that Crowley lapped out, swallowed if he could. The taste, the _smell_; it was nothing he wanted to get away from. If he could get Aziraphale off a dozen times on just his tongue alone, oh, he wanted to try. He wanted to bury himself between those thighs like a starved man and taste Aziraphale, he wanted to _fuck_ Aziraphale. He wanted it all, he wanted everything. The best part of it was he had the _time_ to do it all. When he licked back into Aziraphale, there was no hurry, no complaining that they couldn’t be doing this. No, Aziraphale just spread his thighs out and rolled his hips into Crowley’s mouth, begging for more.

The second orgasm came just as quickly, and Crowley pulled back after that. Aziraphale’s thighs were a sticky, wet mess, and his nipples had gone a pretty pink from his own ministrations. Crowley’s cocks twitched with interest, looking over Aziraphale like this. He needed to be marked, owned. _Claimed_. Crowley didn’t even bother to wipe his chin before he leaned down to bury his face between Aziraphale’s tits and suck on the soft skin there. To bite at it, to nip and mark wherever he could reach, until he was closing his lips over Aziraphale’s left nipple and sucking. With one hand, Crowley propped himself up, but with the other, he cupped at Aziraphale’s right tit and squeezed, rolled the plump mound about, and toyed with his nipple.

He would switch sides, eventually, and leave bite marks covering Aziraphale’s chest: from his neck to the underside of his tits, nothing would be left unmarked. Aziraphale belonged to _him_, he always had. This was just the proof of it. This was just the final step in telling Heaven and Hell that nobody would get to have his omega again. There wasn’t even time to regret the time it had taken, not when Aziraphale was wrapping his thighs around Crowley’s hips and urging him closer.

“I want to _fuck_ you,” Crowley growled, nibbling at the skin just behind his jaw, under his ear. “I’m going to fuck you, Aziraphale,” he amended. “I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going to _like_ it.”

“_Yes_, Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped, rolling his hips. He could feel Crowley’s cocks rubbing against his mound, hard and _wet_. “Please, fuck me—I need you. I need you inside of me.”

Crowley made some sort of dangerous hiss into Aziraphale’s ear before pulling back just enough to fit his hand between them. He ran his fingers down through Aziraphale’s cunt, slicking them up before focusing over his clit, rolling the little nub—faster, then. Faster until it was friction between them, and Aziraphale was crying out. His hips were bucking uselessly, his whole body arched when Crowley went down over his tit again. Crowley was too good with his mouth, it wasn’t _fair, _and then he had Aziraphale’s clit between two of his fingers. It was almost _torture_, the fire that spread through Aziraphale’s pelvis. Like he would really come again, just from this, and maybe he did. He didn’t really _know_, anymore, only that Crowley had dipped down to hook his fingers into Aziraphale.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped. “No—”

“No?” Crowley grinned at him, pressing the two fingers in as deep as the could manage. “You don’t like that?”

Aziraphale let out a heady whine, rolling his hips down over Crowley’s fingers. Trying to fuck himself in earnest, but Crowley wasn’t _moving._

“Angel,” Crowley hissed at him. “You’ve just told me _no_. You’ve got to change that if you want something.” And it sounded playful, really. It sounded like Crowley was trying to goad him into begging, and maybe he was, but behind it all was _care_. He didn’t want to do anything that Aziraphale didn’t like, and that just made Aziraphale’s chest swell with unparalleled warmth.

“I want you,” Aziraphale whimpered. “I want you to fuck me—I want your cock inside of me—” Crowley started to move, then, a slow and torturous little drag of his fingers. Not enough to mean anything, but enough that Aziraphale was interested in _more._

“Just my cock?” Crowley asked, dragging his lips over Aziraphale’s jaw.

“Oh, Crowley—I want both of them, inside me. At once—I know I can take it. I need you; I need you so badly!”

Crowley pulled back, pulled his fingers away, and wiped the excess slick over Aziraphale’s tits. “I’m going to fuck you,” Crowley told him, “in every _single_ way possible. You won’t be able to move when I’m done with you.”

“_Yes_,” Aziraphale gasped.

“I’ll take you up the arse if I have to. Would you like that, angel? Stuffed on my cocks from both ends? Maybe you want something in your mouth too, hm?” Crowley tapped his fingers over Aziraphale’s lips, and Aziraphale’s mouth opened for him. “What a greedy little thing,” Crowley said, and there was awe in his voice.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s fingers into his mouth and sucked on them. They tasted of Aziraphale’s own slick, and somehow the idea made Aziraphale shiver. But he sucked until Crowley’s fingers were clean and generously wet. Only then did Crowley pull back, pressing his fingers back down through Aziraphale’s folds to gather more of that wetness over his fingers. Aziraphale had dripped all the way down himself, and Crowley followed the line of slick until he was pressing a finger into his arse.

“Is this okay?” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale whimpered, nodding quickly. He gripped around Crowley’s shoulders, keeping him close, when Crowley’s finger breached him. Crowley had never done this to him. Only one other alpha had, and at first, it had terrified Aziraphale. Trust had won him over, the smell from Crowley’s neck that he wanted to be _careful_, that all he wanted was to please Aziraphale in every single way possible. And the first press of Crowley’s finger had been just as gentle, a subtle slide inside of him. The slick made the glide easy, and Crowley didn’t rush. He kissed into Aziraphale’s skin, his jaw and his neck, all the while just working the same finger in and out of him, a slow rhythm for Aziraphale to get used to. Once he had—

“Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped. “_More!__”_

Crowley obliged without a word, without a noise. He pulled away long enough to gather more slick, then was pressing two fingers inside of Aziraphale. By the time he’d reached three fingers, he was fucking Aziraphale with them, and Aziraphale was spread out wide for it. He had his hands fisted in the sheets; his head thrown back with cries on his lips. Even his thighs had fallen open, trying to raise himself up so Crowley could have a better angle. It was perfect, it was _wonderful_, and there was another little _something_ not too far back that Crowley could press over with his fingertips and send stars in Aziraphale’s eyes.

Maybe it was the third, or the fourth, orgasm—Aziraphale wasn’t counting. But he’d come again on Crowley’s fingers, and then Crowley was pulling back. The next touch came from his _cock;_ Aziraphale shuddered. He’d been waiting for this, the feeling of Crowley’s cockhead between his folds. He spread his thighs just a little wider, rolled his hips. Anything he could do to get Crowley to press inside; Crowley must have been ready to burst. Aziraphale had no idea how long it’d been, but Crowley hadn’t come once. He must have needed it—needed it badly.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped, “please. Just—inside me, I need you. You need me too, don’t you?”

Crowley made some sort of noise that wasn’t quite human. Aziraphale reached up for him, arms around his neck, and pulled him down for a heavy kiss. Aziraphale liked kissing, he liked everything that it meant. He liked when it meant Crowley’s tongue was brushing over the roof of his mouth and making him shiver; it made him want to get his mouth over something else. There would be time later, for Aziraphale to suck on Crowley’s cocks until they both came again. For now, Aziraphale pushed back and watched, dazed, as the string of saliva between them snapped.

“Fuck me,” Aziraphale begged. “Fuck me, Crowley. Take me—make me _yours_. I want—I want to be yours, that’s all I’ve ever wanted—”

Crowley flipped Aziraphale onto his stomach and pulled him back until he was on his knees—and Aziraphale’s immediate distress didn’t go unnoticed. Crowley soothed him, hands over his back, his hips, until he was down between his thighs again to rub the head of one cock through Aziraphale’s folds. Aziraphale shuddered, pushed back, but oh, the air had suddenly soured just enough that Crowley hesitated. He kissed down over Aziraphale’s back, rubbing into his thigh with one hand while his other guided his cock to Aziraphale’s dripping cunt.

“I’m going to take you,” Crowley whispered, “and then I’m going to bite you. And then, I’ll see your face, I promise.”

Aziraphale nodded—he _believed_ Crowley.

The feeling of Crowley’s cock sinking into him was nothing short of euphoric, and Aziraphale cried out into the pillows for it. Crowley’s second cock nestled itself in the juncture of Aziraphale’s pelvis and thigh, and Aziraphale found that he didn’t mind. Even the one cock felt a stretch, at the moment; he knew he’d be taking both of them by the end of this, and that was what mattered. The eventually. For the current, Crowley didn’t wait even a second, once he was fully seated, to take Aziraphale by the hips and to fuck him. It was hard, fast, and Crowley’s nails were digging into his skin to keep them both grounded. Aziraphale was helpless to do anything but push back into every thrust, to whimper and cry for it.

He wanted—_Heaven_, he wanted this. He’d wanted this for centuries, he realized dully, when Crowley brushed against that spot inside of him. This was just the first round of many, this was just—this was just because Crowley couldn’t wait to get his mark on him, that was all. He’d said it himself, and Aziraphale lost himself in the pounding of Crowley’s thrusts and the thoughts of what else was in store. He’d let Crowley do anything he wanted, he would, because he _trusted_ Crowley.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley, I need—”

“You’ll get it,” Crowley growled. He pushed a hard thrust into Aziraphale, then again, and again. Enough that the bed rocked with it, and Aziraphale cried out. He gasped, moaned, and gripped his hands into the pillows.

“I’m close—”

“_Yeah_,” Crowley agreed, and it was just another advantage of his height. He didn’t need to pull Aziraphale back to him to do this, no, he just draped over Aziraphale and wrapped an arm around his chest to keep him still, to keep him in place. Like a proper alpha—Aziraphale couldn’t help but think this was the first true and proper fucking he’d probably ever had. And just like this, his orgasm was drumming through him like thunder, and Crowley was _biting_ into the nape of his neck.

Aziraphale thought it would stop, after that. He thought that maybe the heat would subside, that Crowley would come and pull back, and that they’d lay down. That had been the farthest from what _had _happened, where Aziraphale suddenly broke out into a shriek, tears welling up in his eyes at the pain of it. And then—Crowley was pulling out to roll Aziraphale onto his back. Within seconds, he was pressing his cock back inside, and Aziraphale had never felt so much relief to be _filled._ He wanted more, he realized. Even this wasn’t enough. He wanted—

“Crowley—_come_,” Aziraphale gasped. “Come inside me, please—I want you too. I _need_ you too.”

“Yeah?” Crowley was almost laughing, working his hips still. He had his hands on either side of Aziraphale’s head, staring at him while their hips slapped together, the squelch of Aziraphale’s wet cunt between them. “You need to be bred, don’t you?” Crowley growled, leaning down. “Need to be fucked by a _real_ alpha. I’ll give you what you want. I’ll breed you until you’re full of it, and I’ll keep you that way until you give me what _I_ want—” Crowley broke off in a gasp, his hips stuttering. He was close, he was _close_—Aziraphale was even _excited_ for it.

“_Yes!_” Aziraphale cried. “_Please_, Alpha, put a baby in me. I want to—I want to carry your child—” Aziraphale gasped, then. He clenched down around Crowley, another orgasm ripping through his body as Crowley came inside him.

He expected Crowley to lay down, after that. To take a break, like his previous alphas had. They always got so tired, even if Aziraphale’s body commanded more. He _expected_ Crowley to leave him to take care of his next few orgasms alone. Instead, Crowley pulled back just long enough to switch which cock was buried in the heat of Aziraphale’s cunt, and Aziraphale _cried_ when the second breach came. Crowley wasn’t tired. Crowley could still fuck him.

By the time Aziraphale finally reached the first moment of rest, they were both worn out. Crowley hadn’t taken a single break, and he _swore _that he wouldn’t need to. He’d take a break when Aziraphale’s body took a break, and the chances were pretty great that he’d fall straight asleep. He hadn’t, though. When he plopped down beside Aziraphale, he raised his arm and gave Aziraphale a place to curl up against him, with his head on his chest. The angle was good, and Crowley used it to brush his fingers over the mark on the back of Aziraphale’s neck. It would heal on its own, and this one wouldn’t disappear like the ones before it. This one was _real._

“Sixteen,” Crowley said, looking rather smug.

“Sixteen?” Aziraphale looked at him.

“That’s how many orgasms you had.”

“You were counting—?!” Aziraphale almost looked scandalized, but Crowley looked so damn proud of himself. It was hard to really feel anything other than the same, with the way the mark on the back of his neck suddenly went warm.

Crowley pushed up until he was over Aziraphale again, his arm a pillow, and his other hand ghosting over Aziraphale’s cheek. “I’ll prove to you yet that I’m the best you’ll ever have. You won’t regret this, Aziraphale, and—”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley felt it too. The sudden _sadness._ “I won’t regret it, because I love you,” he said, quietly.

Crowley smiled, didn’t look entirely convinced, and leaned down to press their foreheads together. “I love you, too,” he muttered. Behind it, Aziraphale could feel the doubt, the fear. They were both nervous. This was _new_. Angels and demons didn’t do this, not together. They hardly did it with each other. But they didn’t have to follow those rules anymore. And really, if their differences meant the mark wouldn’t stay regardless, they’d just keep trying. Aziraphale was determined to keep Crowley’s mark on him, and even more determined to carry his child. He was certain both things would happen.

When the heat struck again, it was a fast and devious little thing. Aziraphale had barely been able to wake Crowley up, but once he was awake, he was _awake_. Aziraphale got what he wanted, too, and more—when Crowley stuffed his cunt with both cocks. Crowley fucked just as hard and fast as the first time, and Aziraphale came more times than he could count. Crowley was counting; Crowley was doing _everything_. He seemed quite content to do all the work, fucking Aziraphale on his cocks and flicking his nipples.

Crowley came again, inside, and this time he _stayed_ inside. The throngs of heat made it possible, and Aziraphale found he was rather comfortable like this—knotted on two cocks, pressed close to Crowley in every way possible. To the point where he didn’t know where he ended and Crowley began; all he knew were the kisses on his face, the soothing press of Crowley’s finger over his mound to soothe the ache of it. Aziraphale could take it, and more. He _certainly_ assured Crowley as such. To the point where Crowley even tested him for it, and the next time they fucked, Crowley had one cock in his cunt, and one up his arse. Aziraphale had never come so hard; his vision had nearly gone white with it, and then Crowley was massing his back.

Near the end, when they were both exhausted, they tried new things. Crowley got them both off just rubbing against Aziraphale’s cunt, his thighs up over Crowley’s shoulder and pressed together. Aziraphale had been so taken with it that they’d tried it again, and Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s tits around his himself and came over his chest, his face—then, Aziraphale finally got to sink his mouth over one of them. Crowley coached him through it, taught him how to move his head, how to curl his lips, and how to use his tongue. They kept at it until Crowley came down his throat, and just as Aziraphale had expected—he’d come from it too. He’d made quite a mess over Crowley’s thigh, and Crowley had _spanked_ him.

“I think you should ride me,” Crowley said, near the end of it. “I’m tired. Did all the work.”

Aziraphale didn’t have to be asked twice or told. He crawled over Crowley’s hips and sunk down over his cocks in one movement. He was so wet and open, dripping with Crowley’s semen and his own slick—it was like nothing. It lit every nerve in his body on fire, enough to make him cry, but he _needed_ more. He needed Crowley until his heat decided they were done, and the more times Crowley could come, the better chance they had.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale cried, bracing himself on Crowley’s chest. “Crowley, I want a baby so bad—”

“I know you do, dove,” Crowley soothed, rolling his hips up. “I’ll give you one, I promise. Move your hips, dove, just like that,” and his voice was so calming, so quiet. Aziraphale did just as he was told, rolling his hips into Crowley’s to seek out his own pleasure. Crowley steadied him, hands over his thighs, and they kissed. It was a slow, mundane little dance that they did, but when Aziraphale gushed and clenched, Crowley came again.

Crowley surged up, then, and flipped them to press Aziraphale’s back into the mattress. He didn’t stop—he nearly folded Aziraphale in half in his urgency, his _need_ to keep fucking. Aziraphale’s heat was almost over, and this might be their _last_ chance.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Crowley hissed at him. Aziraphale’s knees were pressed into his chest, and everything was a mess. But they were still kissing, still _happy_. “You’ll look even better with a baby in you,” Crowley said. “You’re gonna look so fucking _good_, fat with my kid.”

“I want to—” Aziraphale gasped. Kissing was turning more into a pathetic press of lips than anything, but Aziraphale kept trying. “I want you to be _proud, _I—”

There was a long, long hour that passed after they’d both come again. They’d both fallen asleep, and the hour passed without notice. It was only when Crowley woke up that he realized just what had been said, and that he was still buried inside Aziraphale. The heat was over, though, that much he could smell. Pulling out was enough on Aziraphale’s shot nerves that he woke up immediately, whimpering with tears welling his in eyes from it. Crowley immediately cupped his face, shushed him, and pressed a kiss into his forehead.

“You did wonderfully,” Crowley told him. “You did so well; I’d be lost without you.”

Aziraphale didn’t have much of a voice to speak, they found.

“No matter what happens,” Crowley whispered, “I will love you. I _do_ love you, and I’m proud of you, alright? No matter what.”

Aziraphale nodded.

It was two weeks later, some odd time while Crowley was busy flipping through a catalog—certainly not reading it—when Aziraphale came down the hall from the bedroom. Aziraphale had _finally_ agreed to move into the flat, and while his nest had once been that old thing he called a bed in his bookshop, it was now _their_ nest, and it was Crowley’s bed. Crowley didn’t mind the extra stuff: he’d always slept in a mound of pillows anyway. The flat was becoming more a home than it’d ever been before, and just as fast as it was becoming a home, Crowley was flipping through a real estate catalog.

They’d mulled over the idea of moving, neither of them really in much of a hurry to go anywhere. Crowley was looking at the South Downs when Aziraphale propped himself up on the desk. What caught his eye was not so much that Aziraphale was there, but the fact that he was wearing nothing but a black button up shirt. From the way he sat, it hiked up just enough that Crowley could see the peak of blue panties underneath it, and he went stiff in his throne.

“Morning,” he said, having not looked at Aziraphale at all.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled, and something in his voice made Crowley look up and away from his thighs. Aziraphale was practically _glowing_, beaming, and when he reached out for Crowley’s hand, his skin was warm to the touch.

“Angel—” Crowley’s eyes went wide, and suddenly Aziraphale was pressing Crowley’s hand into his own stomach.

“I’m pregnant, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

If that wasn’t about to jump start looking for a house, Crowley didn’t know what would. He nearly toppled the throne in his hurry to stand up, sputtering and tumbling over his words as he pressed both of his hands around Aziraphale’s stomach. They’d get a house, they’d have a _kid_, and Crowley would spend the rest of his life doting over them: Aziraphale and this child. He knew he would—it’s what he’d been dreaming of since he first saw Aziraphale at that ark and knew what he was. Back then, it had been sacrilege to think something like that. To breed an angel, to have a _family_ with one. But now, now it just felt _right._

“Twins,” Aziraphale continued. “I can feel it.”

Crowley was helpless, then, to do anything but press his face into Aziraphale’s neck and hold him.

**Author's Note:**

> 𓆏 Immediate Chapter 2 cuz i wrote this all at once  
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